solated youngling I made my special
study. Sometimes on the approach of a grown up bird, he lifted his wings
and opened his mouth, petitioning for, and plainly expecting food. At
other times he paid not the least attention to a swallow passing over
him, but sat composed and silent, though watchful, apparently for the
right one to come in sight. He was often, though not invariably, fed
upon his appeal; but that proves nothing, for it would require the
services of a dozen parents to respond to every request of a young bird.
It not unfrequently happened, too, that one of the flock always flying
about over the water came very near the little one on the post as if to
offer him a morsel, but suddenly, when almost upon him, wheeled and
left,--obviously mistaken. On no such occasion did that knowing
youngster show any expectation of attention. Again there would sometimes
join him on the post, a second young swallow, and, although crowded,
they were quite contented together. Then I noticed as the elders swept
over, that sometimes one baby begged, sometimes the other; never both at
once. This seemed to indicate that the little one knows its parents, for
no one familiar with the craving hunger and the constant opening of the
baby beak to its natural purveyors, will doubt that when a young bird
failed to ask, it was because the elder was not its parent.

An early lesson in many bird lives is that of following, or flying in a
flock, for at first the babies of a brood scatter wildly, and seem not
to have the smallest notion of keeping together. The small swallows in
the trees near me were carefully trained in this. Often while one stood
chirping vehemently, clearly thinking himself half starved, a grown-up
bird flew close past him, calling in very sweet tones, and stopped in
plain sight, ten or fifteen feet away. Of course the youngster followed
at once. But just as he reached the side of the parent, that thoughtful
tutor took another short flight, calling and coaxing as before. This
little performance was repeated three or four times before the pupil
received the tidbits he so urgently desired.

Other sweet baby-talk in the trees came from the wood-pewee. The pewee I
had noted from the building of her beautiful lichen-covered cradle in
the crotch of a wild-cherry tree. The branch, dead and leafless,
afforded no screen for the brave little mother. Look when one might, in
the hottest sunshine or the heaviest rain, there sat the bird q